Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 5

A more beautiful spot for a siesta he could not have chosen. At his feet stretched the lake, gleaming like silver in the sun, and set in a frame of green leaves and forest flowers; above his head, in his very ears, the thrushes and linnets sang in concert, all the air was full of the perfumes of a summer morning, rendered sweeter by the storm of the preceding night, which had called forth the scent of the ferns and the honeysuckle.

As he lay, and dreamt with that happy-go-lucky carelessness of time and the daily round of duties which is one of the privileges of youth, there rose upon the air a song other than that of the birds.

It was a girl's voice, chanting softly, and evidently with perfect unconsciousness; faintly at first, it broke upon the air, then more distinctly, and presently, from amongst the bushes that stood breast high round the sleeping Savage, issued Una.

The night had had dreams for her, dreams in which the handsome face, with its bold, daring eyes, and quick, sensitive mouth, had hovered before her closed eyes and haunted her, and now here he lay at her feet.

How tired he must be to sleep there, and how hungry! for, though she had not seen the note--nor the ring--she knew that he had gone without breakfast.

"Poor fellow!" she murmured--"his face is quite pale--and--ah----!" she broke off with a sudden gasp, and bent forward; a wasp, which had been buzzing around his head for some time, swept his cheek.

Too fearful of waking him to sweep the insect aside, she knelt and watched with clasped hands and shrinking heart; so intent in her dread that the wasp should alight on his cheek and sting him as almost to have forgotten her fear that he should awake.

At last the dreaded climax occurred; the wasp settled on his lips; with a low, smothered cry, she stretched out her hand, and, with a quick movement, swept the wasp off. But, lightly as her finger had touched his lips, it had been sufficient to wake him, and, with a little start, he opened his eyes, and received into them, and through them to his heart the girl's rapt gaze.

For a minute neither moved; he lest he should break the dream; she, because, bird-like, she was fascinated; then, the minute pa.s.sed, she rose, and drew back, and glided into the brake.

The Savage with a wild throb of the heart, saw that his dream had grown into life, raised himself on his elbow and looked after her, and, as he did so, his eye caught a small basket which she had set down beside him.

"Stay," he called, and in so gentle a voice that his friends who had christened him the Savage would have instantly changed it to the Dove.

"Stay! Please stay. Your basket."

"Why did you run from me?" asked the Savage, in a low voice. "Did you think that I should hurt you?"

"Hurt me? No, why should you?" and her eyes met his with innocent surprise.

"Why should I, indeed! I should have been very sorry if you had gone, because I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night."

"You have not to thank me," she said, slowly.

"Yes," he a.s.sented, quietly. "But for you----" then he stopped, remembering that it was scarcely correct to complain of her father's inhospitality; "I behaved very badly. I always do," he added--for the first time in his life with regret.

"Do you?" she said, doubtfully. "You were wet and tired last night, and--and you must not think ill of my father; he----"

"Don't say another word. I was treated better than I deserved."

"Why did you go without breakfast this morning?" she said, suddenly.

"I brought it with me," he replied. "You forgot the loaf!" and he smiled.

"Dry bread!" she said, pityingly. "I am so sorry. If I had but known, I would have brought you some milk."

"Oh, I have done very well," he said, his curt way softened and toned down.

"And now you are going to Arkdale?" she said, gently.

"That is, after I have gone to rest for a little while longer; I am in no hurry; won't you sit down, Una? Keep me company."

To her there seemed nothing strange in the speech; gravely and naturally she sat down at the foot of an oak.

"You think the forest is lonely?" she said.

"I do, most decidedly. Don't you?"

"No; but that is because I am used to it and have known no other place."

"Always lived here?" he said, with interest.

"Ever since I was three years old."

"Eighteen years! Then you are twenty-one?" murmured Jack.

"Yes; how old are you?" she asked, calmly.

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two. And you have lived in the world all the time?"

"Yes--very much so," he replied.

"And you are going back to it. You will never come into the forest again, while I shall go on living here till I die, and never see the world in which you have lived. Does that sound strange to you?"

"Do you mean to say that you have never been outside this forest?" he said, raising himself on his elbow to stare at her.

"Yes. I have never been out of Warden since we came into it."

"But--why not?" he demanded.

"I do not know," she replied, simply.

"But there must be some reason for it? Haven't you been to Arkdale or Wermesley?"

"No," she said, smiling. "Tell me what they are like. Are they gay and full of people, with theaters and parks, and ladies riding and driving, and crowds in the streets?"

"Oh, this is too much!" under his breath. "No, no--a thousand times no!"

he exclaimed; "they are the two most miserable holes in creation! There are no parks, no theaters in Arkdale or Wermesley. You might see a lady on horseback--one lady in a week! They are two county towns, and nothing of that kind ever goes on in them. You mean London, and--and places like that when you speak of theaters and that sort of thing!"

"Yes, London," she says, quietly. "Tell me all about that--I have read about it in books."

"Books!" said the Savage, in undisguised contempt; "what's the use of _them_! You must see life for yourself--books are no use. They give it to you all wrong; at least, I expect so; don't know much about them myself."

"Tell me," she repeated, "tell me of the world outside the forest; tell me about yourself."

"About myself? Oh, that wouldn't interest you."

"Yes," she said, simply, "I would rather hear about yourself than about anything else."

"Look here, I don't know what to tell you."